Thresholds - Going “beyond the choke”
- Sieske Valk
- 6 hours ago
- 5 min read
Lewis’s euthanasia was scheduled for 17 January 2026. On a very windy, November afternoon, the day after Lewis’s 19th birthday, I stood wailing in the Dawlish Warren nature reserve. I had just moved “beyond the choke”.
Just a few minutes before, Jamie and I sat on a bench by the beach, guarding our pasties from seagulls, as I - with a lot of difficulty - brought up Lewis’s quality of life. It had diminished rapidly over the past few weeks. He regularly soiled himself, needed support with eating, and just seemed to sleep the day and night away. That morning, I had just come to the realisation that, as Lewis’s primary guardian, nurse and main carer, I needed to say out loud the inevitable. The time had come to say goodbye.
Do you recognise that moment, where your heart and your mind know the truth, but the words stick in your throat like a lump of dry bread? That once you have said it out loud to another person, the deep sense of sorrow building up in your chest comes spilling out? I call that “the choke”. It is one of the hardest things - and one of the most liberating things to move beyond.
I have held space for and guided many pet caregivers in my years of vet nursing, being an end-of-life doula and running a palliative and hospice clinic. Pioneering human palliative physician and Cognitive Behaviour Therapist Dr Kathryn Mannix calls it “the Threshold Effect”:
“We require the skill (and courage) not only to conduct the conversation, but also to recognise when and how to begin it.” (Listen, p.141)
Not taking the chance to pass the threshold in time can result in missed opportunities to get your affairs in order, plan for a life’s dignified ending and say your last words. A poignant example of this is given in this article written by Dr Mannix on the Marie Curie website.
What can happen when we are brave enough to step over the threshold
Speaking out loud what was in my heart, even though I didn’t want it to be there, helped me to release that tension in my chest, expel all the fluids in my tear ducts for a week or so, and then, with newfound clarity, start preparing for Lewis’s final weeks.
I arranged for my ex-colleague Tamara Whiteside to come over from London on the day to have the honour of euthanising Lewis. She and I have done many euthanasias together: I knew exactly how she works and what to expect, and I know she can hit a vein on any dodgy old-cat-leg.
We organised a photographer to do a photoshoot with us as a family, to remember this moment of his life - not just the active times of his youth.
I went to visit the crematorium where his body would be cremated and made sure my wishes would be respected, and I could bring his ashes home the same day.
I finalised the shroud, made from the train of my wedding dress, which would hold his body. This was a collaborative project: my mother cut off the train of the dress, I pinned it into a satchel, and my mother-in-law sewed it all together.
I found a friend willing to felt Lewis’s fur I had been collecting for months into a little ball, I could caress when I would miss his soft body.
I chose a beautiful ring to hold his ashes to wear on my right hand, as he has been my right-hand man for most of my adult life.
We bought a crab apple tree to plant in our new garden, which will blossom a bright white each year to remind us of him.
His ashes will be scattered around the tree, on the farm in Cornwall and in my parents’ garden in Friesland, where he spent many happy days.
We spent one final, blissful Christmas at home, just us three, mindfully enjoying each other’s company, lounging on the sofa, snoozing and eating.
And I told him how much he has meant to me, for all the other humans in his life, and the other animals he has guided through old age.
When we choose to ignore that the inevitable is coming, or are told “everything will be fine” when it’s clear it won’t, we are robbed of the opportunity to step into the final phase of our beloved's life with clarity and mindfulness. I am grateful for the clarity I had on that cold winter day. And I am grateful for all the bonus time we have been granted since the 17th of January.
Because Lewis wasn’t euthanised on that day.
The same day we had decided on a date, he started being a bit more like his chatty, demanding self again. That first evening, we looked at each other as he did something funny while we were in bed and said, “Well, not if he’s like this in January!”
Good days turned into good weeks, and at the start of January, I felt a bit more confident to message Tamara and say: I think you won’t be needed, just yet.
Lewis’s care right now is complex, which is only fitting for a cat who is the equivalent of a 92-year-old human. He needs support, adjustments, pureed food and regular hygiene maintenance (which he oddly doesn’t mind. In fact, he now walks into the shower himself for a wash and loves to be blow-dried after!). I do it with love and dedication, because I wouldn’t have it any other way. He mostly lives in the lounge, and so do we. Each day, I reflect on his quality of life, pondering whether today is the day I set a new date for his euthanasia.
When that time comes - and it will come, too soon - I am prepared, and know that I have done everything in my power to make him feel comfortable, dignified and loved. And I’ll continue to be there every step of the way, holding him, until the end.
Sies.
About me
My name is Sieske Valk (pronounced as Sees-kuh Falk). I started my career as a veterinary nurse in the Netherlands. After a short stint working as a social science researcher, I set up an animal care company in London, called Sies Petcare. This grew into Autumn Animals, the UK’s first holistic palliative and hospice care organisation. Trained as an end-of-life doula for companion animals, I supported numerous families through the autumn of their furry friend’s life, and after. I live with Lewis the cat (19) and husband Jamie, in beautiful Devon.
I now support veterinary businesses that want to improve their palliative and hospice services and support their team through challenging cases. If you’d like to have a chat about this, go to www.calendly.com/autumnanimals or visit autumnanimals.com for more information.
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